Rectify (Return to Us Trilogy #2) (5 page)

As we're zipping up our jumpsuits, I can't help but gaze at her. She checks her appearance in the glass window of the small office in the corner of the hangar. I'm riveted as I watch the thin, purple-and-black nylon fabric stretch across her bountiful, round ass. My dick lengthens at the thought of her wearing only the jumpsuit with her tits poking out of the zipper.

Fuck, I need to be inside her.

"Are you nervous?" She clearly is. I would be troubled if she wasn't. We're about to jump out of a plane.

She peers over her shoulder at me. "A little." Her timid voice confirms my assessment. She's scared. And fuck if her fear isn't making my dick twitch. I walk over to her and help her with the rest of her gear.

"Still want to do this?" I want her to have an out.

"Oh, yes. Yes. I do." Her repeated words don't sit well with me. However, I know Ivy wouldn't do something she didn't want to.

"Frank Jr. is going to jump as well. He's going to be filming us. You always have to have a video of your first jump. I still have mine."

I wrap my arms around her and gaze into her fearful yet eager eyes. Her chest rises and falls as her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Christ, I crave this woman. No, I require her. My body's essentials include food, water, air, and Ivy. I cease to exist without her.

My thoughts disturb me. I'm Trip, the man other men fear. The man who doesn't ask questions and doesn't accept pathetic excuses. Follow my orders or reap the consequences. Plain and simple. For these reasons, I will be chosen to lead the council when Raymond passes.

But now this radiant woman is the chink in my armor. The one place my enemies' swords could strike to slice through my epidermis and cripple me to my knees. Powerless and defeated, I would drop to the floor at their feet. I'd hemorrhage a river of agony envisioning her delicate face as I perish.

I stare at the ground and compel myself to focus. "Okay, let's go through some basic information."

Ivy

The plane's engines rev and the bench beneath me vibrates like one hundred lawn mowers firing up at the same time. I rest my head on the chilly metal of the wall as we prepare for takeoff. My hair bends like cooked spaghetti around the cold bolts running vertically on the wall. I roll my head from side to side over the bolts, giving myself a painful, but extraordinary neck massage.

Oh no. What did he say again? Something about moving my body into an arch. We jump at thirteen thousand feet. I think. Or was it five thousand? No, five thousand feet is when we open the parachute. Right?

Paying attention to the words coming out of his tasty lips was entirely too difficult. He spoke, but I heard nothing, fixated on his tongue scurrying out to wet his lips.
His tongue persistent on my clit while his scruffy chin pushes on my entrance. The coarse hair of his five o'clock shadow digging into my pussy
. Shoot, this man tugs orgasms out of me like a magician pulling color-changing scarves from his pocket. Never-ending.

Inhale. Exhale.

I mash my eyes closed, and my stomach drops as weightlessness pushes against me. The undercarriage compartments jostle and the landing gear retracts. Okay, almost over. You can do this, Ivy.

"Are you afraid of flying? 'Cause we're about to jump out of a plane, ya know." I peek at him with my right eye and Jacade smirks at me. Jerk. Slut Ivy flips him the bird from her seat.

"No, I'm not a fan of takeoff and landing. Once we're up in the air, I'll be fine." While I'm blowing out a long breath, his left hand settles on my inner thigh. His pinkie finger traces figure eights, and his touch is like electroshock therapy, even through fabric. Please, don't stop my treatments, Dr. Jordan. Give me more.

The sketching on my thigh helps my muscles unwind a bit. "How did you learn to skydive?" My curiosity is peaked.
I want to know the specifics about this enthralling man who materialized a week ago and has decided to fulfill all my wishes. And not just skydiving.

"Well, let's say I wasn't an ideal teenager." He grins and hangs his head laughing. His pinkie stills, and he squeezes my thigh.

"None of us were," I mumble and sway into his shoulder, bouncing our bodies together. Sparks fly from our point of connection. I shouldn't have bumped him. We may ignite the aircraft.

He places his elbows on his knees and intertwines his fingers in front of him.

"I met Frank"—he motions to Frank Sr. in the pilot seat—"at a gas station by chance. I overheard him talking about how he was starting up his own skydiving business. As a reckless eighteen-year-old, I was fascinated by him. I mean skydiving? What adrenaline-junkie kid wouldn't be?" 

Grrr, his adorable dimple emerges with his smile. Thank god, he doesn't have two, or I might evaporate like rain hitting pavement on a steamy July day.

"I still remember the first time I jumped with Frank. It was like..." He stares at the airplane door as if he can see right through it. "Freedom."

"Freedom?"

"Yeah, it's hard to explain. Freedom from everything, troubles... life."

Stillness blankets the space and floats above the noise from the engines. "You're about to find out." He glances over and winks at me. "I was this punk teenager he'd met in a gas station. Frank saw something in me. He knew jumping would help focus my inner pandemonium in a positive way. He paid for me to become a certified instructor and gave me a job during the summers. He presented me with my certificate after my five hundredth jump." He brushes a piece of fuzz off his jumpsuit.

"Was it about the same time you met my uncle?" If he's talkative, I'm going to pry more answers out of him.

"I met Bernard after Frank." His voice is matter of fact, almost bitter. I can't tell if I should ask more questions or not. Why won't he ever elaborate on his relationship with Uncle Bernie?

Frank Jr. climbs out of the copilot seat and hangs onto the metal rails above his head as he wobbles toward us. He's a younger, good-looking replica of Frank Sr. He sits down across from us and straps on a helmet with a video camera adhered to the top.

"You two ready?" He beams and his eyes light up. He's as high as we are.

Jacade stands and peers down at me. His gray jumpsuit with orange stripes down the front makes him look like Apollo from Battlestar Galactica. The straps over his herculean shoulders—monogrammed in vertical, white initials, JJJ—connect him to our one and only parachute. He holds his gray helmet in his right hand. His aviator goggles push back his tousled sexy hair. He totally has
I need to be fucked
hair. I can take care of that for him.

Jacade bends his knees to make eye contact with me. Exhilaration dances in his eyes as his lips turn up on one side. Those kissable lips should be sucking on me.

"You ready for this?" Does he mean skydiving? Or him? I'm not one hundred percent sure about either, but I'm going to jump anyway. Leap of faith. Or leap of Jacade.

I agree with a smile. I'm doing this. I'm going to be doing him later too. Those two are definite.

"Let's hook up. Stand in front of me like I showed you earlier."

I turn, and he presses his solid frame to my back. Mmm, another attack from the back? I glance down and see his sneakers, not his Italian shoes. I grin at the memory as he wraps one arm around my waist and tugs me up against him.

Clip. Clip
.

He lowers his chin, and his breath warms my neck. The current he stirs from my body is like a fine symphony. He the conductor, me the instrument. When he raises his arms with the baton in his hand, I wait in anticipation. The baton waves and all my instruments produce a harmonious melody for him.

"There. You're shackled to me." His lips travel to my earlobe. He sucks and the current dances down the curves of my body. He's plucking notes from me with every word and composing our masterpiece. "At last."

Oy vey.

***

Ivy

Frank Jr. yanks the airplane door open and an icy wind blasts us in the face. I turn my head to avoid full-on bombardment. Humans aren't meant to fly. We have no wings. No propellers. Airplanes do—So why do we jump out of them again? Oh my god, I'm really going to do this.

Jacade shuffles us to the edge, holding onto the metal bar bolted to the roof, until half of my soles hang over the lip of the airplane door.

Frank Jr. hangs onto a handle secured to the exterior of the plane. His front angles toward the plane's interior, his back to the clouds, ready to film my first skydive experience.

Jacade shouts over the gushing wind. "Remember everything I taught you?" Umm, kinda sorta. My sex god on a stick was giving those instructions. How was I supposed to pay attention? I nod because, at this point, it's immaterial. He'll take care of me.

"Last chance to back out. Sure you want to do this?" I consent with my head while staring at the earth below.

Civilization and nature mix in a surreal coverlet below me. The glistening cerulean water of Lake Michigan extends as far as my eyes can see to my left. In the far distance, lawyers and professionals bustle in the dense Chicago metropolis of skyscrapers and expensive condos. I bet we could spot Jacade's penthouse from up here.

"We're about to jump out of an airplane. I need words, Ivy."

My first time with Jacade was like this; apprehension of the unknown, the intense fear of being claimed, the maelstrom of sensations he roused in my body. I forced myself to embrace my nervousness and go for it.

"Yes!" I scream with conviction.

"On three. One!" He shuffles me farther out on the ledge. I nudge my fingers under the straps of my harness and hold on for dear life.

Oh my god.

"Two!" I flop my head back on him and will myself to concentrate on the clouds at eye level. Oh, the one on the left could be a bear or a giraffe. Who cares? I'm about to jump out of a fucking airplane strapped to my sex god on a stick!

"Three!" He pushes his weight against me, and we pitch forward out the door. The g-forces bombard my body as gravity has its way with me.

Jacade swaddles me into a curve and we somersault in the air. His indestructible embrace trusses me in like steel girders. My eyelids fight to stay open.

Open. Blue sky. Close.

Open. Brown earth. Close.

He stops our tumbling by unwrapping our bodies, and we free fall through the frosty air. Adrenaline vibrates through my cells as I plummet to the ground. I vaguely remember him saying something about free falling at a speed of 120 miles per hour. But who knows because his rotund lips spellbound me.

Jacade grasps my hands and peels them from my death grip on the coarse straps of my harness. With my head up and my legs bent at a forty-five-degree angle, he stretches my arms out so they are higher than my body. I believe he called it the box man position during training. Damn he always knows how to position me even when flying through the air.

I can only assume I look like a distressed chipmunk hiding acorns in its cheeks.

Jacade gives a thumbs-up to Frank Jr.

Oh no. Frank Jr. is filming this. Well, thanks for documenting my oh shit moment on video, Frank Jr.

My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip. It stings, and I taste a hint of blood before I swallow.

My eyes scan the suburban homes and tree lined streets of the outer city limits. I imagine lemonade stands, Radio Flyer wagons, and block parties. To my right, a 747 takes off from O'Hare. We should fly past the passengers and wave to them in midair. I vaguely take in the square patches of bister and saffron farmland past the suburbs.

Jacade's wrist swings into my field of vision. He points to his altimeter with his black-gloved finger. We are almost to five thousand feet above the ground.

He jostles against my back to pull the ripcord. My stomach drops to my knees as we lunge upward. He grips the steering toggles, and we soar through the air like a bald eagle in flight.

Now I understand what he meant earlier. When you're falling weightless to the ground, worry, stress, and life seem inconsequential. Knowing at any moment the parachute could fail and we would smash to the earth like pumpkins puts life into perspective.

The Willis Tower, or the Sears Tower as I've always known it, glimmers in the sun, blinding me as if it's a stealth secret agent conveying a message by holding a mirror to light. Sublime.

He glides our bodies to a field outlined by lush trees. His voice resonates in my left ear. "Legs up, like you're hoping off a chair." I lift my knees and Jacade lands us with practiced ease, like everything else he does in life—including sex. His feet take the bulk of the force as we hit the ground. I lower my legs and hop with our momentum.

The eagle has landed.

***

Jacade

Click
.
Click
.

I'm disheartened as I unclasp our tethered gear. I'm detaching Ivy from my body and I abhor it. She's mine. The warmth and pressure of her body against mine leaves me as she stands and whirls around to face me. Our orange parachute lying flat behind me, I sit up and rest my elbows on my legs to watch the show. I remember the first time I jumped and the first time I ever saw her. Same enthralling feeling.

I wave to Frank Jr. on the far side of the open field.

"Oh my god! I loved it!" She's talking fast and jumping up and down like a girl who was just gifted a pony.

"Little help here?" I stretch my hand out and she latches on. I jerk her toward the ground and force her against my body again. But now I have her breasts to my chest. Hell yeah.

Her smile radiates like I've captured the sun in my arms. I brush a piece of her wild hair out of her scintillating eyes and hook it around her ear. The strand is determined not to be wrangled and flies back across her cheekbone.

I can't help but smile with her. I'm fucking screwed. She presses her lips to mine with feral hunger. My lips stretch with hers when she pulls away, disappointed at their departure.

"Good. However, the next time you say
oh my god
or
I loved it
I'd better be rammed deep inside you. Got it, sweetheart?" With a wink, I give her ass a hard smack, then squeeze her cheeks with both fists. She jolts and throws her head back laughing.

She beams at me. "Deal, Dr. Jordan." Oh, I'm Dr. Jordan now? All right, beautiful, I'll play doctor with you.

"Let me pack up the parachute. Our ride is waiting through the trees over there."

"How is Frank Jr. getting back?" She places her hand over her eyes to shade the sunlight.

"Frank Sr. will come pick him up," I say with a chuckle. "I promised Frank Jr. he could drive my Jag if he came in on his Saturday off and filmed us."

"You're letting him drive your Jag?" Her mouth falls open.

I shrug. "Sure. It's only a car." I grab the chute and walk toward the line of trees on the opposite end of the field. Ivy catches up to me. "Frank Jr. is a good kid." I grin and peer down at her. "Plus, Shane will be tailing him the whole time."